The Search for Solace
by twistedpotter
Summary: Harry Potter falls into a deep depression post-war. After stumbling upon a slave auction, he realizes his true desire is to be owned and cared for by a master. But much to his surprise, he is purchased by none other than the Malfoy men. How will his new life turn out? WARNINGS: homosexual themes, incest, bondage, BDSM, sex, non-con, language, etc.
1. Chapter 1

_AN: I don't own anything Harry Potter related, unfortunately. This is my original plot._

* * *

**CHAPTER ONE:**

After the war, Harry Potter had not been able to cope. Any form of inner peace escaped him. Night after sleepless night left him irritable, frustrated, and hostile. He alienated himself from all friends, deciding it was better to cut the ties himself rather than risk the pain of losing them in any other way. And he began to seek solace from the bottoms of bottles.

On a particularly drunken night, Harry found himself wandering the streets, peering into dirty windows of bars and clubs that would never allow him inside in his current state. He shivered, a cold sweat prickling his skin as his cheeks burned hot. The smell of fried food wafted up from a basement restaurant and Harry's stomach tumbled over. He fought the nausea, unwilling to waste all the whiskey sitting inside him, waiting to be absorbed into his bloodstream, and continued on down the sidewalk.

The wind picked up suddenly, and Harry heard the raindrops pinging off the roofs before he felt them. He hurried under an awning as the rain grew heavier, but the wind blew it in every direction, soaking him. Everyone else on the streets disappeared into buildings, and Harry knew he had to sober up and try to get inside somewhere, just until the storm passed.

Taking a final swig from his bottle of Firewhiskey and tossing the empty bottle down an alley, Harry ran across the street and into the nearest club. It was dark inside, which he was grateful for as the bouncer who checked his ID couldn't see his face too well. Of course, the name on his identification caused an eyebrow raise and an inquisitive look, but his level of intoxication remained a secret until he stumbled away.

Collapsing into a dark corner booth, Harry took a deep breath and wiped the rain and sweat from his forehead. He waited for his eyes to adjust before peering around the club, getting his bearings. A large bar lined the back wall with about twenty black leather stools with silver nail head details, only a few dim, dusty bulbs lighting the shelves of alcohol. He was sitting in one of only five black leather booths, tucked to the side of the bar. The rest of the club was an open dance floor with a circular stage in the middle. Harry squinted to try and see what was on the stage, but between his level of intoxication and the darkness it was impossible.

With a start, he realized there was someone standing next to him. It was a young man, dressed only in a leather chest harness and leather briefs, a matching leather hood covering his entire face except for his eyes. He silently handed Harry a drink menu.

"Oh," Harry mumbled, taking the menu and reading the name of the club on the front. "The Leather Hex…" He ran his eyes over the guy again, who kept his head lowered respectfully. He didn't want his slurred speech to prevent him from being served, so he kept his words to a minimum, "Firewhiskey, straight up."

The server nodded once and disappeared behind the bar. Harry assumed the leather hood prevented him from talking. In just a few moments, he returned silently with Harry's drink.

"Thanks," Harry said, but the server had already retreated.

He sipped his drink, feeling instantly better as the amber liquid left a warm burn down his throat. He took off his glasses and wiped them on his shirt, trying again to see what was happening on the center stage. He could see the outline of a handful of men on the stage, all standing in the same stiff pose, only a few inches between each of them. About a dozen people stood in front of the stage, none of whose faces Harry could discern. One person moved on the stage from man to man, and if Harry really concentrated, he could pick up bits of what was being said.

"Our last boy here… Muscular…intelligent…helps with household chores…limited cooking skills, but can be taught… Enjoys some form of bondage at all times." The crowd in front of the stage murmured. "Starting the bidding at 40 Galleons."

Harry's brow furrowed. It was an auction? His curiosity started to pique, and he picked up his drink and carefully began moving closer to the action. The auctioneer was yelling out numbers, and the crowd was holding up paddles. Harry stayed in the shadows as he watched, the price climbing to 100 Galleons, fewer and fewer paddles staying up.

From his new vantage point, Harry could better see the men lined up on stage. They were all young and fit, varying physiques and skin colors, and they were all bound in exactly the same way—a length of chain between their ankles keeping them hobbled, arms cuffed behind their backs, simple black collars around their necks, and completely naked. Some stood proudly and some were visibly uncomfortable with being on display.

Harry felt a warm rush in his groin that surprised him, and he shifted in his pants a bit. Suddenly, a soft voice whispered in his ear.

"Like what you see?"

Harry spun around, teetering a little from the fast movement, and found himself staring into an unfamiliar face. "I'm Lincoln, owner of the Leather Hex," the man said, thrusting his hand out for Harry to shake. "Never thought I'd see the day where Harry fucking Potter would wander into my club."

"I, uh, it started to rain, and," Harry stammered.

"Sure, sure," Lincoln said, resting his hand on Harry's shoulder. "Just in time for our nightly slave auction, huh? Seems like you missed out on tonight's selection, but no worries, we have a fresh pack ready to go for tomorrow night. Starts right at midnight, sharp, don't be late next time!"

"No, no." Harry shook his head, stumbling back so Lincoln's hand fell to his side. He took a gulp of his drink, needing the liquid courage to help him handle the situation. "I'm not—not interested… I don't…slaves?"

"Yes, Potter, sex slaves!" Lincoln sounded incredulous, squinting at Harry in the dim light. Harry felt uncomfortable, certain the club owner could tell how drunk he was and would throw him back out in the rain any second. "That's what this place specializes in. Master and slave relationships. Bondage." His eyes narrowed further. "You didn't know that when you came in here?"

Harry shook his head, but stopped quickly as the movement made the room spin. Lincoln suddenly grabbed him by the elbow. "Let's go back to your booth and talk, shall we?" He steered Harry back to where he had been sitting, dumping him into one side of the booth before sitting down in the other. He carefully pried Harry's drink from his hand and pushed it down the other end of the table, far out of Harry's reach.

"This is what I specialize in, Potter. Making fantasies come true for sexual deviants like you. I can see it in your eyes. You wanted one of those slaves. Didn't you?"

Harry looked longingly for his drink, his hand feeling empty and clammy. "No," he insisted. "Why would any of them want to…?"

"Want to what? Be a slave?" Lincoln chuckled, gesturing over to the stage. "Those boys love to live like that. They want to submit to a strong master who will control every aspect of their life. They _crave_ it. These relationships require two willing participants, nobody is forced. This is how I make my living, Potter, spotting people like you whose dull, empty lives need some excitement and fulfillment."

"I don't…" Harry trailed off, looking over Lincoln's shoulders at the stage again.

"I'll tell you what. Go home. Do some research. Come back here tomorrow night. I guarantee you won't be in denial anymore." With that, Lincoln returned Harry his drink and left without another word.

Harry stayed sitting, stunned. His drunken brain struggled to sift through the confusing thoughts swirling around his head. He wasn't sure how he'd ended up in a leather bar, let alone the middle of a slave auction with the beginnings of an erection and a stomach full of Firewhiskey. He looked on as the winning bidders went up on stage and claimed their prizes, hooking leashes on the boys' collars and leading them off. He sighed deeply, tossed back the rest of his drink, left a few too many coins on the table, and found his way home.

* * *

Despite how much he'd had to drink, Harry couldn't sleep. He was used to sleepless nights, so he settled onto the couch with a cup of black coffee and his laptop. The past few hours kept replaying in his mind, and he decided to do what Lincoln had suggested. Researching sexual slavery, bondage, sadism and masochism made the rest of night slip by in a blur. Before he knew it, sunlight was streaming through his windows, breaking past the residual storm clouds.

Finally, he closed the lid on laptop and let his head drop backwards with a groan. What was it about what he'd witnessed had turned him on so much? What he had told Lincoln was true—he wasn't interested in owning a slave. But something the man had said about the slaves had resonated with him on a deep level. _They want to submit to a strong master who will control every aspect of their life._

Harry looked around his apartment. It was almost bare except for the dingy couch he was sitting on, a milk crate with an old TV perched on top, and pieces of the Daily Prophet scattered around the floor along with bottles of alcohol in various stages of emptiness. He slept on a bare mattress in the other room, and all that was in the fridge was more alcohol, an old tub of butter, and a frozen loaf of bread from months ago. What he really needed—and now that he thought about it, what he really _wanted_—was someone to take care of him. Someone to make all the decisions for him. Someone to direct and guide his life, because he no longer had the will to do it for himself.

The crushing weight of despair that usually sat heavy on his chest suddenly seemed to lift a little at the realization. He didn't want to own a slave; he wanted to be a slave. Somehow he had stumbled into the Leather Hex last night at exactly the right time. Lincoln had opened his eyes to what he was missing.

Harry Potter needed a master.


	2. Chapter 2

**CHAPTER TWO:**

Harry spent the rest of the day watching master/slave porn, researching the way a typical BDSM relationship worked, and further convincing himself that this was exactly what he wanted. When the sun finally set, Harry realized that not only had he not eaten anything all day, he also hadn't had a single drink. He couldn't remember the last time he'd spent a day sober. Forcing down a piece of freezer-burned bread with expired butter just to settle his stomach, Harry showered and dressed, even taking care to put on his cleanest clothes. As soon as the sun set, he made his way back across town to the Leather Hex.

There were no customers yet, and the lights were on. Harry didn't like the look of the place in full light, the club seeming seedier than it had the night before now that he could see the grime and the cracks in the leather. It shook his confidence a little, and he struggled to resist the urge to run to the bar and demand a strong drink.

He asked the bartender, who was currently sweeping the floor in preparation for the evening, if he could meet with Lincoln. The bartender obviously recognized him as Harry Potter and immediately dropped his broom and hurried into the back to find Lincoln.

"Potter! I knew you'd be back," Lincoln roared as he came out. Harry didn't like the look of him in full light, either. He was shorter and fatter than Harry remembered, the shiny crown of his head visible through his thinning dark hair.

"Can we talk?" Harry asked quietly. "In private?"

Lincoln lowered his voice respectfully, but there was still a gleam in his eye. "Sure, sure. Come on back to my office."

It was clear by the décor in Lincoln's office that he made a lot of money on, as he'd said before, other people's sexual fantasies. The walls were papered in rich maroon stripes and an enormous carved wood desk sat in the center with a state-of-the-art computer and a beautiful antique globe. Personalized, signed portraits of famous Quidditch players hung in gilded frames on the walls.

"Sit, sit," he said, indicating one of the two maroon velvet upholstered chairs in front of his desk, settling himself down into the grand, winged brown leather chair behind it. Harry sat down on the edge of the chair, rubbing the fabric nervously.

"So," he started carefully to break the silence. His lack of intoxication was making him nervous and fidgety. "I did what you said. I…researched."

A broad smile spread across Lincoln's face. "Excellent! And what did you decide? Did it pique your fantasies? Are you ready to purchase tonight?"

"No. Well, yes. Wait." Harry shook his head, trying to sort his thoughts. Lincoln's excitement and fast-talking was making him lose his nerve even more. Lincoln seemed to pick up on Harry's concern, though.

"It's nothing to be ashamed of, Harry," he said gently.

"It's not that. I just—I took some time, and I realized… I realized… I'd rather, you know, be on the other side of it."

Lincoln's eyes narrowed. "I don't understand," he said, even though Harry was fairly certain that the man was catching on. "The other side?"

"Yes." Harry sighed deeply, figuring it was better to just say it and get it out. "The slave side. I want to be on the slave side."

Lincoln was uncharacteristically quiet and visibly trying to hide his shock. Harry felt so uncomfortable that he dropped his gaze, playing with one of the soft tassels that hung on the edge of his seat. "You're sure?" Lincoln said finally. Harry nodded without looking up.

"Yes. This is what I want."

"Alright." Lincoln couldn't keep the excitement out of his tone. Auctioning off the one and only Harry Potter was going to make him a fortune. He stood up and unlocked a filing cabinet, pulling out a stapled set of papers and pushing them toward Harry. "You have to read and sign these. Then there's a magical bond created, which we complete once you are purchased. You can set up guidelines with your purchaser at that time." He handed Harry a heavy, expensive pen that felt like a block of lead between Harry's fingers.

Harry began carefully reading the contract. It stated in verbose, drawn out sentences peppered with official-sounding words that Harry was willingly putting himself up for auction to be the slave of the highest bidder for a term of five years. He would lose all rights to himself and become the essential property of his purchaser. All his assets would transfer over to the purchaser as well. The language got more and more wordy as Harry read on, and he began to lose interest. He didn't care about the technicalities at all. Whoever purchased him could have his apartment, his belongings, his everything. It meant nothing to Harry. He just wanted this new life where someone else would lead his life for him.

"Fine, good, fine," he murmured as he pretended to read through the remaining pages. He signed the bottom, crossing the two T's with a nervous flourish. "Done."

"Great, great," Lincoln said, grinning as he took the papers from Harry. "Now I'll just need a few drops of your blood in this vial and we can start getting you ready."

He handed Harry a small vial and a cork stopper. Harry grabbed his wand from his back pocket and used a spell to create a small incision on his forearm, not even flinching at the pain. He carefully collected the dripping blood into the vial, inserted the stopper, and handed it back to Lincoln before using a healing spell to seal the wound.

"Looks like you'll be able to handle the pain well," Lincoln mused as he began muttering a charm over the papers and the vial. Harry figured he meant the pain of whipping and beating that usually went with a BDSM relationship—or so he'd learned during his 'research.' That was the part he wasn't so nervous about.

"Alright, now that that's done, let's get you ready with the other boys. We have quite a selection for tonight, but I have no doubt that the spotlight will only be on you." Lincoln grabbed Harry by the elbow just as he had the night before and directed him out of the office, down a corridor, and into another room.

Harry's eyes widened as he looked around. Like a kennel, six large cages lined one of the walls, and there was a boy inside four of them. All the boys were naked, blindfolded with black leather masks, gagged with black leather bar gags, and handcuffed with their arms in front of them. Three were curled on their sides, seemingly asleep, but one was sitting up against a corner of the cage, rocking nervously.

"They're all willing, Harry," Lincoln reminded him. "Just like you. Now strip." Harry could sense that Lincoln's attitude toward him had changed by the tone in his voice, and it made his heart start to pound in his chest. He carefully began taking his clothes off and folding them in a pile on the floor, which Lincoln scooped up and placed in a bag labeled with the number 5 and hung on a hook next to the fifth cage.

When Harry was completely naked, Lincoln pulled the leather eye mask over his head. Harry's heart beat even harder at the sudden loss of his vision, but he could feel the blood pulsing to his cock as well. He heard the jingle of chains as Lincoln pulled out a pair of handcuffs, securing Harry's arms in front of him and locking the cuffs uncomfortably tight. Finally, Lincoln tapped two fingers against Harry's lips. "Open," he commanded, the cordial tone long gone, sounding all business now. Harry hesitated a moment before obeying, and immediately Lincoln forced the soft cylinder lined with leather between his jaws, buckling it behind his head.

Before Harry could test it out, Lincoln was moving him forward, pressing down on his head to make him duck into the cage. It was too low to stand, and Harry stumbled forward, catching himself with his cuffed hands. "The auction starts at midnight, Potter," Lincoln said as he closed and lock the cage door. "So you've got about…five hours to get comfortable in your new way of life."


	3. Chapter 3

**CHAPTER THREE:**

"Are you ready Draco?"

"Just a minute, father." Draco carefully selected a silver tie from his collection, holding it up against his dark grey shirt for a second before tying it around his neck. He fingered the expensive silk when he finished, gazing at his reflection.

"Draco!"

Snapping out of it, Draco hurried out of his dressing room and downstairs to meet his father, who was impatiently tapping his cane against the marble floors of their foyer. "Could you at least run a comb through your hair, for Merlin's sake?" Lucius snapped. "We're going out in public. What would your mother say if she were alive?"

Draco cringed. Since Narcissa had taken her own life, addled by inner demons post-war, this had become his father's favorite way to get Draco to do what he wanted. "I like to wear it this way," he said defensively, running his fingers through his long, shaggy hair. "It _is_ combed."

"It looks slovenly." Lucius checked his own reflection in the hall mirror, his hair falling past his shoulders but perfectly parted without a single flyaway strand. "But we don't have time anymore. We're going to miss the auction." He jabbed Draco in the small of his back with his cane, causing Draco to yelp with pain and quickly Apparate to the Leather Hex.

Lucius appeared beside him only a moment later. "Now remember," Lucius said, his voice low and stern. "We are buying _one_ boy, whom we will break together. This is a reward for completing your training, so you may choose the boy. But even though you are not in bondage, Draco, you are still my submissive, and you will be on your most perfect behavior tonight, do you understand?"

"Yes, sir," Draco whispered, nervously excited. His father—or his master, really—hadn't let him get dressed up and leave the house in months. The fabrics felt amazing on his skin, giving him back a little of his old confidence, which his father had worked hard to beat out of him during his training. Without Narcissa there to protect him, Lucius had quickly enslaved his son, breaking him into obedience. Draco had had no say about his new lifestyle, so tonight promised to be a real treat.

Lucius nodded his head toward the door, which Draco hurried to hold open for him. Keeping just a pace behind his father, Draco followed Lucius past the bouncer and over to the stage where a small crowd had gathered. He kept his hands behind his back and his head bowed as his father greeted a few old friends, knowing not to speak unless spoken to.

At exactly midnight, the dim lights above the stage brightened, and the club owner, Lincoln, walked out on stage. He was holding a chain attached to the collar of a slave boy, whose collar was chained to the collar of the boy behind him, and so on until the fifth and last boy. They shuffled out slowly, their ankles hobbled, and Lincoln arranged them carefully on their knees on stage next to each other. He unchained their collars, took off their blindfolds, and pulled the gags out of their mouths. Draco rubbed his own jaw subconsciously, knowing how sore the boys must be.

"You have five minutes to survey the selection!" Lincoln announced. "Absolutely no touching."

Draco and Lucius began eyeing the slaves carefully, Draco following his father closer to the stage for a better look. Draco couldn't stifle a sharp gasp as he realized who the fifth slave was, and judging by Lucius' slightly opened mouth, he was shocked too. "Is that…?" Draco whispered, but went silent when Lucius regained his composure and shot him a look.

There was no doubt. Even without his glasses, Harry Potter was unmistakable. Draco felt woozy as he watched the boy shift uncomfortably on his knees, his thick cock swinging between his legs, his muscled chest pushed out with his arms chained behind his back. Those sharp green eyes stared out straight ahead with determination, but Draco could see nervous sweat beading on Harry's forehead.

"One minute remaining!" Lincoln called out.

Draco had completely forgotten about the others. He only had eyes for Harry, and Lucius had already noticed. The man sighed deeply, shaking his head. "Number five, I'm assuming?" he asked in a bored voice. Draco nodded mutely, too shocked at his own luck. On all the nights, of all the slaves. What were the odds?

When the five minutes were up, Lincoln began his customary introduction and description of each slave. Draco didn't listen to a single word until Lincoln got to Harry. "Tonight, we have a very special slave up for auction. Slave number five is new to the scene and looking for a strong master to help him feel alive again. Number five is a talented wizard of excellent physique. He's well endowed, as you can see." Lincoln gave Harry's cock a smack, setting it swinging again between his thighs and making Draco's knees buckles. "And five handles pain incredibly well. This one will take some time and skill in breaking, but will undoubtedly be worth it. A truly rare gem for your collection."

The crowd of potential buyers was buzzing with excitement over Harry, making Draco anxious. He gave Lucius a desperate look, to which Lucius rolled his eyes. Money was no object here; Lucius had no doubt he could purchase the Potter boy for Draco. But still Draco's adrenaline rushed through him like fire in his veins.

"I'll start the bidding at 100 Galleons."

Draco felt like he blacked out during the bidding. There was a roaring in his ears, and his eyes stayed locked on Harry the entire time. He only snapped out of it when Lucius smacked his ankle with his cane and hissed, "There. That's more than I spent on our summer house in France. I hope you're happy with your decision." But Draco could tell that Lucius wasn't mad with him. In fact, Draco was pretty certain that Lucius was pleased with their new purchase.

Once the auction was over, Lucius met with Lincoln to sign the blood contract and finish the bonding charm. Draco stayed a step behind him, as trained, but it was hard to keep the grin off his face. He hadn't heard a peep from or about Harry Potter in years since the war, and most people had just assumed the man had become a recluse. Draco couldn't believe his luck. His father now _owned_ Harry and was giving him to Draco as a _gift_. What an amazing night.

Suddenly, Draco found himself face-to-face with his new gift. Lincoln led the boy out in front of them, and Lucius immediately attached a black leather leash to Harry's collar. Harry's calm, cool composure had broken, and he was visibly panicked at seeing who his new owners were.

"I—you," he stammered, his wide green eyes jumping from Lucius to Draco and back again.

"Not another word, boy," Lincoln chided, smiling as he weighed Lucius' bag of coins in his hand. "They're your new owners, fair and square. You signed the contract. You are magically bound to them. It's done."

"But, but—"

Lucius tightened his grip on the short leash, pulling on Harry's collar and cutting off his air. "Be silent," he growled. "I agree, this particular arrangement is…a surprise. But it _is_ done, and you've committed to this relationship. Now stop talking or I'll put that gag back in for the rest of the night. Understood?"

Harry squirmed, desperately trying to take in air, fighting the cuffs holding his hands behind him. Finally he nodded and Lucius released his grip.

"All set then?" Lucius asked Lincoln, who nodded and handed Lucius the bag of Harry's clothes and personal belongings, including his wand. "Good. Let's go, Draco. Back to the manor." And with that, the three men Apparated away, leaving behind a very pleased Lincoln with his bag of money.


	4. Chapter 4

**CHAPTER FOUR:**

Harry opened his eyes and found himself in the elaborate foyer of Malfoy manor. He was shivering in his nakedness, making the chains holding his arms behind his back clink softly. Lucius was still holding onto his leash, although not nearly as tightly anymore.

"Take him downstairs," Lucius ordered, running his eyes up and down Harry's body so carelessly that it made Harry nauseous. He handed Draco the leash. "Get him set up in whatever way you see fit. Looks like he needs some time to…come to grips with his new situation."

Draco nodded, his eyes wide and excited. His father could be difficult and stern, but he was not as cruel as most people assumed, and Draco thought it was kind of him to allow Harry time to adjust before beginning his training. He grabbed hold of Harry's elbow and Apparated them to the basement.

The second they were away from Lucius, Harry began trying to speak. "Draco, I don't now how this happened, I never meant for—"

"Shh!" Draco looked nervously over his shoulder. "Don't let him hear you. You were a gift to me, and if I don't make you behave right, it's me he's going to punish!"

Harry, too, was terrified of angering Lucius, so he bit his lip and fell silent. Draco lead him over to a metal dog cage, smaller than the one he'd been stored in at the Leather Hex before the auction, and opened the door. "Get in. Then I'll uncuff you." He took the leash off Harry's collar and nudged him in with surprisingly gentle hands. Once he was all the way inside, Draco magicked the cuffs off of him. "There. Better?"

Harry nodded, pulling his arms in front of him and groaning at the soreness in his shoulders. He rubbed the raw skin on his wrists, and then immediately began clawing at the collar still locked around his throat.

"No, no," Draco murmured, stroking a finger along Harry's spine soothingly. The touch made Harry jump, and he scrambled away from Draco's reach as best he could. Draco sighed. "You'll get used to it, all of it. I promise. I did."

Harry frowned, not sure what Draco meant. Draco opened the cage door and tossed a small, thin blanket inside before closing and locking it. "Father says to give you some time to adjust," he murmured, watching Harry intently. "So…enjoy it. Because it won't last."

Draco Apparated, disappearing before Harry had a chance to ask anymore questions. The sudden silence made Harry realize how loud and fast his own heart was beating, and he took a deep, shaky breath as he looked around. The cage was small, with hardly enough room for him to lie down if he curled up. It was hard to see the rest of the basement since Draco had only left a small light on, but Harry could make out the shapes of various restraints and toys hanging from hooks along one wall.

Harry ran his trembling fingers through his hair, which was matted with nervous sweat. He was sure that no matter how hard or how long he tried there was no way he would be able to come to grips with the fact that Lucius and Draco Malfoy had purchased him as their slave. He'd wanted this new lifestyle so badly, but he'd never considered the fact that he could end up owned by someone he already knew.

Spreading the small blanket out as best he could on the floor of the cage, Harry got into the fetal position on top of it, cradling his head in his arms. Lucius Malfoy had always scared him, he'd admit it, and it seemed like the older man had taken complete charge of his son post-war. Now Harry was locked in a cage in their basement, a predicament he'd somehow willingly signed on for. Tears flooded his eyes, the craving for alcohol making him feel physically ill. "I wanted this," he whispered to himself, fingering the collar as it seemed to grow tighter. "This'll be good for me. It has to be…"

* * *

Draco had a hard time falling asleep, despite the fact that it was almost three in the morning when he left Harry in the basement and settled into his own bed. Lucius had given him explicit instructions for Harry's first day as their slave, and Draco kept playing them out in his head as he tossed and turned.

Draco was to start out making Harry feel as good as possible; earning his trust, showing him just how much pleasure was possible if he was a good boy. Then he was to begin giving him basic commands, and the punishments for not listening would be severe. The duality of the treatments would be what eventually broke Harry down, just as they had for Draco only months earlier.

Draco woke up early and made his way downstairs to join his father at the breakfast table. Without looking up from the newspaper, Lucius snapped his fingers and pointed at the spot on the rug beside his chair. Draco immediately hurried there and dropped to his knees, clasping his hands behind him and bowing his head.

"Good morning, boy." Lucius flipped through a few more pages before putting the paper down, picking up his coffee, and settling back in his chair to gaze down at his son. "Are you excited for today? Are you pleased with your gift?"

Draco nodded, not having yet been given permission to speak.

"Stand," Lucius commanded, and Draco quickly got to his feet while keeping his arms behind his back. Lucius untied the belt of Draco's silk robe and opened it, revealing a metal cage encasing the boy's member, holding it chaste.

"Looks like you'll need to be released from this for today, don't you think?" Lucius asked, his tone mocking as he reached a finger between the bars to tease Draco's soft cock. Draco whimpered as he started to harden, pressing into the bars of the chastity device, unable to grow to his full length.

Lucius grabbed his wand, and with a soft click the cage opened and fell to the floor. Draco's cock immediately swelled, not having been able to get hard for weeks while locked up. He couldn't even remember his last orgasm. "Save that for your new toy," Lucius advised. "Now show me how grateful you are, eat some breakfast, and you can go downstairs and begin."

Forcing himself to ignore his own pleasure, as he had been trained to do, Draco crawled under the table between his father's legs. He pushed the man's robes out of the way to reveal his beautiful, semi-hard cock, framed by curls the same white blonde as his hair. With extreme care, he ran his tongue along the underside from base to tip, but instead of a moan of pleasure from his father, all Draco heard was the rustle of the newspaper as Lucius resumed his reading. Draco felt a wave of disappointment and self doubt wash over him, which was exactly the way Lucius intended for him to feel. Draco was merely his father's slave, not a lover, and he was performing his duties out of necessity, not love. That was how Lucius trained slaves.

Draco worked even harder to try and make his father feel good, but it wasn't until he was near orgasm that Lucius showed any sort of reaction. The man reached under the table and grabbed a fistful of Draco's hair, forcing his head down so his face was impaled on Lucius' cock. He could hear the boy choking, feel his lips suctioning against his skin as he tried to breathe, and this pushed Lucius over the edge. Fingers tightening in the soft blonde strands so like his own, he poured his seed deep down his son's throat, holding his head there a few moments longer before releasing him.

Head spinning from lack of oxygen, Draco jerked backwards under the table and gasped in air, forcing himself to swallow a few times more. He took the time to regain his composure, wiping the tears off his cheeks before emerging from underneath the table. He found a plate of toast and eggs and a cup of coffee waiting for him on the floor beside his father's chair, which he kneeled next to and ate quietly. His erection from before was long gone.

"Good boy, Draco," Lucius announced when Draco finish eating, making the boy jump. "You may go get dressed and start your training. If and when you need help, I expect you to come find me." There was an undertone of warning in Lucius' voice that Draco did not miss. He nodded and stood up, backing out of the room.


	5. Chapter 5

**CHAPTER FIVE:**

Draco took the time while showering and dressing to mentally prepare. He knew before his father had flipped his world upside down that he used to be a dominant soul, enjoying topping boys and girls alike at Hogwarts. He had been quick-witted, hot-tempered, and sexually aggressive. That fire had to still live inside him somewhere. He just needed Harry to spark it.

Freshly showered and shaved with his hair hanging loose around his face, Draco got into a pair of jeans and a simple black t-shirt. He wanted to appear approachable and friendly to Harry today in order to get the boy to trust him. Taking a deep, steadying breath, he Apparated into the basement.

He peered through the darkness and saw Harry's sleeping form curled uncomfortably in the cage. His skin was shining with sweat despite the cold air, and Draco's brow furrowed in concern. "Harry," he said quietly, not wanting to scare him. "Harry, wake up."

Harry stirred, lifting his head off of his arms and trying to focus his eyes as his hands searched for his glasses. Once he got them on, he sat up fully and took Draco in. He didn't speak.

Draco went over and unlocked the door to the cage, allowing Harry to get out by himself. Harry couldn't quite stifle a groan, his stiffness obvious as he crawled out, unable to stand after having been cramped in the small space for so long.

"Shh," Draco soothed, dropping down to his knees and putting his hands tentatively on Harry's shoulders. When the boy didn't try to pull away, Draco began rubbing the muscles there. Harry groaned again, clearly ill at ease but unable to deny the physical comfort.

"Lie down." Draco coaxed Harry to lie on his stomach, continuing to massage his shoulders and upper arms, moving down his back. "It'll feel better soon, I promise."

He pulled out his wand and conjured up a small vial of oil, spilling some out onto his hands before continuing. He was a little surprised at Harry's willingness to let Draco touch him, and he pushed his luck trying to massage the boy's quads. Harry immediately tensed and raised himself up on his elbows, flipping over.

"It's okay," Draco said softly, reaching out to place a gentle hand on Harry's thigh. Harry jumped a little, but didn't pull away. His green eyes were wide and uncertain, and Draco truly did feel bad for him. "I'm just trying to help you."

He could see Harry swallow before he nodded his head, allowing Draco to continue. Draco took his oil-slicked fingers and resumed his massage, rubbing his fingers deep into Harry's quadriceps. "It's cold down here. Why is your skin so hot?" Draco asked.

Harry swallowed again, dropping his head. "Alcoholic," he mumbled.

Draco blinked. The Harry he'd known in school and during the war had been so strong and capable—nothing like the Harry he saw now. He was beginning to understand why the boy had decided to adopt this lifestyle. But if Harry was going through alcohol withdrawal, today would not be fun at all.

"Maybe my father has a potion to help you with the symptoms," Draco said. "I'll ask him at lunch, okay?"

Harry nodded, and Draco continued moving down his legs, rubbing the knots out of the boy's calves. "Feel a little better?" he asked when he finished, sitting back and looking at Harry's body glistening with the oil. He'd lost weight and muscle since the war, and his skin had a bit of a sickly pallor, but he was still sexy nonetheless. Draco had a feeling he would quickly start to look like his old self with some good food, exercise, and no more alcohol.

Harry stretched his arms over his head before shakily standing up. Draco followed him, keeping a tight grip on his wand in case the boy tried anything funny. "Can I have something to wear?" Harry asked, even though he hadn't made a single indication that he was uncomfortable with his own nudity.

Draco shook his head sadly, as though the situation was out of his control. "I'm afraid father won't allow that," he said. Lucius had instructed him to blame Harry's predicaments on Lucius rather than himself so that Harry would think Draco was at his same level. Then, once that trust was established, Draco would flip the tables. "He has strict rules for his slaves. Even though you're my gift, you're still technically his slave, too."

"Are you his slave?" Harry asked, catching on quickly.

"Yes. When my mother killed herself last year, he decided to…take me."

Harry's eyes softened. "I'm sorry. I read about her in the papers. You must miss her."

Draco was amazed that he'd gotten Harry to pity him this quickly. The plan was working. "I do. If she was around, none of this would have happened." He gave Harry a sad smile. "But never mind all that. It is what is. I have to start getting you ready for father now, the way he likes."

Harry visibly stiffened at Draco's words, and Draco hurried to calm him down. "It's not so bad, I promise! I went through it all. First, it's just basic restraints." He summoned over four black leather cuffs and began securing them to Harry's wrists and ankles, magically locking them. He could feel Harry's rapid heartbeat under his skin, a mixture of alcohol withdrawal and pure fear. All the cuffs had metal D-rings on them, so he could be easily attached anywhere, and Harry realized they perfectly matched his collar.

"Now, it's chastity." Draco held up a small metal device so Harry could see it. "It locks around your cock and balls so you can't touch them or get hard. It's pretty uncomfortable at first, but you get used to it. I only just got mine off this morning, and it had been on for weeks."

He kneeled down in front of Harry and began carefully fitting the chastity device on him. Harry's sharp intake of breath when Draco's fingers touched his cock was clearly audible, but Draco didn't stop. Harry had to get used to being manhandled there sooner rather than later.

Draco finished and stood up, magically locking that closed as well. "See? Not so bad."

Harry reached a hand down to feel the chastity, weighing it in his palm, trying to fit his fingers through the bars. Draco didn't stop him, knowing this was all part of the mental process. "It won't be about your pleasure anymore, Harry," he said softly. To his surprise, Harry simply nodded.

The sound of Harry's stomach growling cut through the quiet of the basement. "You can earn your breakfast soon," Draco promised, making a frown flicker across Harry's face. "We're almost done."


End file.
